


Merry Christmas, Agent Gibbs

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: A Christmas story which takes place shortly after Gibbs recruits Tony to his team. Gibbs is, reluctantly, home for Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I found I couldn’t resist the temptation to write another Christmas story!

Special Agent Jethro Gibbs sighed as he let himself into his home on Christmas Eve. 

The house was cold and dark and suited his mood.  As he turned to shut the front door he noticed that the neighbouring houses were ablaze with Christmas lights.  The only vaguely festive note in his own house was the plug-in night light near his coat rack.  Gibbs decided that the subdued lighting suited his mood better than the exuberant decorations in evidence at the Navy Yard where his fellow Federal Agents embraced the upcoming festivities in a manner definitely alien to Gibbs’ more sober approach.  Gibbs sometimes felt that NCIS put the ‘mess’ into Christmess.

Gibbs had come home with mixed emotions.  He was relieved to be away from the enforced jollity of the squad room, from the smell of stale cider and the sound of carols being played on Balboa’s tinny CD player … that was all good.  What was less good was that Director Morrow had insisted that Gibbs take a ‘festive break’. 

FLASHBACK

_Gibbs looked at his Boss in something like horror; Gibbs always volunteered to work over Christmas and the offer had always been gratefully accepted._

_“But, Sir,” he said, “I don’t mind working over Christmas.”_

_“I mind,” said Morrow._

_Gibbs switched tactics, “Agent Barraclough has a new baby.  He wants to be home for the first Christmas.  He’s …”_

_“Swapped with Agent Trent,” said Morrow._

_“But Will won’t want to work,” said Gibbs, “He always goes to his sister on Christmas Day.”_

_“Not this year.  She’s on a cruise.  He’s looking forward to being here and getting comp time.”_

_“But he can’t work on his own,” said Gibbs, “He’ll need backup.  From someone who knows what happens at holiday time.”_

_“Agent Trent’s whole team want to come in,” said Tom.  “So he won’t be on his own.  And,” he added severely, “I am concerned that you are the only agent who has experience of running the office over a holiday break.  That needs to change.  And it will.”_

_“Perhaps I could …” began Gibbs._

_“No, you could not,” said Tom._

_“I hadn’t finished,” said Gibbs._

_“Yes, you have,” said Morrow.  “You cannot come in and do paperwork, look at cold cases or help out other teams.  Jethro, go home.  Enjoy the holiday.”_

_“Sir,” said Gibbs gloomily._

_“Merry Christmas,” said Morrow determinedly._

_“Sir,” said Gibbs with no decrease in gloom._

_Morrow smiled as he watched Gibbs walk away despondently.  He hoped he had done the right thing but he was sure that it wasn’t good for NCIS to depend on Gibbs always taking the holiday shifts.  Tom waited until Gibbs got to the door and spoke again,_

_“And, Jethro, I’ve told Security not to let you back into the building until December 28 th.”_

_Gibbs’ shoulders slumped a little more._

END FLASHBACK

Now Gibbs was facing exile from the Navy Yard for three whole days and he thought it might take that long to recover from his recent experience of shopping in his local mall.  Gibbs had had no food in the house and was unsure whether his usual takeout places would be open over the holidays.  He decided that starvation was, marginally, worse than fighting his way around the supermarket.

All Gibbs’ sensibilities had been offended by the experience of the shopping expedition.  He had managed to tune out the Christmas holiday songs blaring out over the loudspeakers.  He had contributed, more or less willingly, ten dollars to the tin rattling elf who was collecting money for a local homeless shelter.  He had managed to find a bottle of bourbon unadorned by a festive ribbon and had even cracked a smile when a young child lovingly tangled a sticky candy cane in his mother’s fresh-from-the-salon hairstyle. 

His forbearance was severely tested, however, when he found that he had to buy turkey steaks instead of beef; that the only bread available was heavily fruited and his preferred breakfast cereal had been repackaged in a garish red and green box and he nearly reached breaking point when he found that the checkout assistant was dressed as Santa and chuckled each time he bagged an item.  Gibbs nearly gave up entirely when he saw that his groceries had been placed in a bag decorated with a family of chipmunks riding a reindeer but, clinging to the last remnants of his control, tottered to his car. 

The carpark attendant dressed as a snowman never knew how close he came to spending Christmas in the hospital when he commented jovially on people who left their Christmas shopping to the last minute and then sprayed snow on Gibbs’ tyres.

But now, finally, Gibbs was home.  Away from the glitz and glitter of a holiday he wanted to hide away from.  Alone.  Peaceful.  Perhaps it would be OK.  He would retreat to his basement and work on his boat and forget that the curve of the planks could sometimes look like the runners of the sleigh he had once built for an eager little girl.  Perhaps the basement was not a good idea after all.  It was at times like this that it was haunted by the sound of long gone laughter.

Gibbs resolutely stopped his thoughts travelling down the dangerous path of Christmases past and, picking up the reindeer and chipmunk sack, walked into the kitchen.  At least he was alone.  Gibbs’ nostrils twitched as they encountered an unfamiliar smell.  Or perhaps not so much unfamiliar as unexpected in his kitchen.  Gibbs paused to analyse the aroma and decided it had a definite whiff of dumpster with overtones of public restroom.  With senses beginning to tingle with unease, Gibbs heard a rustling noise coming from the living room.  Rats?  In _his_ house?

Gibbs drew his weapon and edged stealthily towards the living room, the way barely illuminated by another of the plug-in lights.  As Gibbs stilled his own breathing he heard a snuffling sound.  He continued his noiseless approach until he reached the source of the snuffles and stopped to look in puzzlement at his couch where someone lay curled up against the chill of Gibbs’ cheerless house.

“DiNozzo!” bellowed Gibbs.

The occupant of the couch jerked into life and promptly fell to the floor where he landed on his ass.

“Hey!” said Tony indignantly.  Despite the gloom of the room which made it difficult to see the expression on Gibbs’ face, he seemed to realise this was a less than tactful opening gambit.  “Hey, Boss!” he said in a milder tone, “Um … hey,” he trailed off as he tried to think of something else to say.

“What you doing here, DiNozzo?” asked Gibbs.

“Waiting for you, Boss,” said Tony, still sitting on the floor and looking more than a little dazed.

Gibbs huffed with annoyance and switched the main lights on.  As Tony was revealed in all his glory, Gibbs said,

“What the hell happened to you?”

Tony looked down at himself in apparent surprise and considered his response.  He pointed to an old blanket lying on the couch,

“I lay on that, Boss.  I didn’t get your couch dirty.”

“Just my floor,” said Gibbs drily.

“Oh,” said Tony guiltily and he lurched unsteadily to his feet.

“Sit down,” said Gibbs.  He considered pushing DiNozzo on to the couch but couldn’t see a clean bit to touch.

Tony carefully perched on the blanket and tried a smile.

Gibbs looked at DiNozzo and wondered what had happened to his new agent.  The shine had definitely rubbed off.  It was two weeks since Tony had finished his training at FLETC and begun to work full-time at the Navy Yard.  Unfortunately, for the past week, Gibbs had been giving evidence in court so had not been around to supervise Tony who had been seconded to Agent Trent’s team.  Trent’s team had been involved with some extensive searches of the docks areas and had been glad of any extra manpower.

Gibbs wasn’t always in favour of ‘his’ agents being used by other teams but this secondment had had benefits.  It meant that Tony got to know other NCIS agents who were inclined to be suspicious of people who joined from outside the Federal system.  Tony had been able to demonstrate a willingness not to sit on the side-lines but to get his hands dirty although, as Gibbs looked at the dishevelled mess sitting on his couch, it looked as if he had got more than his hands dirty.  As he looked more closely he could see that some of what he had thought was dirt was actually bruised skin.  Gibbs began to bristle on his agent’s behalf.

“What the hell happened to you?” he demanded again.

“Oh,” said Tony, “Funny story.”

“Really?” said Gibbs sceptically.

“Well, I guess it was if you were watching,” said Tony reflectively.  He stared into space for a moment or two and then seemed to remember that Gibbs was waiting for an answer and that he didn’t always wait patiently.  “We were dumpster diving,” said Tony.  “It was a bit smelly.”

“You don’t say,” said Gibbs wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah.  We were looking in a dumpster outside a fast food place.”

“ _We_?” asked Gibbs, hoping that his agent hadn’t been left to do all the work.

“Yeah.  I was already in the dumpster.  Agent Barraclough was at the top, about to climb in.  And he slipped.  I think the edge was slick with something … something I don’t want to think too much about.  Anyway, he slipped and did this sort of somersault and fell in.”

“Is he all right?” asked Gibbs in sudden concern about the new father.

“He’s OK.  He had a soft landing.”

“Ah,” said Gibbs as he realised something of what had happened.

“Yeah.  Me.  And I didn’t have such a soft landing.  Turned out that the fast food place had had some renovation done and the bottom of the dumpster was filled with lumps of concrete.  The food waste didn’t create much of a cushion,” said Tony with a hint of a whine.

“You OK?” asked Gibbs.

“Bruises.  Cuts.  Scrapes,” said Tony.  “Ducky looked me over.  Nothing broken.  I’m just sore.  And tired.”

“You sure?” said Gibbs.

“I’m sure,” said Tony looking as if he wanted to stretch out, carefully, on the couch again.

“So what you doing here?” asked Gibbs.

“What?”

“You were asleep on my couch,” Gibbs reminded him.  “You broke in.”

Tony strove for accuracy.  “It’s not breaking in if the door is open,” he argued.

“Whatever,” said Gibbs.  “What are you doing here?”

“I went to see you in the squad room,” said Tony.  “But you weren’t there.  Then Agent Trent told me that the Director had sent you home for the holidays.”

“So?”

“So, I wasn’t sure what I was meant to be doing,” said Tony.  “You said we’d be working the holidays.  I didn’t know if I was meant to stick with Agent Trent’s team or take the holiday.  I needed to check with you.”

“Could’ve have phoned,” said Gibbs.

“Oh, yeah,” said Tony.  “Didn’t think of that.  Sorry, Boss.”

A thought struck Gibbs.  “How’d you get here?  Didn’t see your car outside?”

“Caught a cab,” said Tony.  “Didn’t want to get my car filthy.”

“OK,” said Gibbs.  “What do you want to do?  Do you want to work the holidays or take them off?  You can choose.”

“I can?”

“Sure.  Make the most of it.  Won’t happen often.”

“Oh,” said Tony.  “Oh.  I’ll think about it.”  He stood up to go. 

Gibbs spotted that he had a duffel bag behind the couch.

“Why do you have a bag with you?” he asked.

“The heating in my apartment’s out,” said Tony.  “I figured I’d go to a hotel over the holidays even if I was working.  After all this dumpster diving I need a proper shower.  Or a bath.  I’ll call a cab.  Be out of your hair, Boss.”

Gibbs was curious to know which hotel was going to accept such a smelly guest, “Which hotel you going to?” he asked.

Tony seemed genuinely surprised at the question.  “Don’t know.  Figured the cab driver would know somewhere.”

“DiNozzo,” said Gibbs in exasperation, “You can’t go round DC on Christmas Eve smelling like a garbage truck and expect to find a hotel room.”

“I can’t?  I guess it would be a bit biblical.”

“What?”

“Except my name’s not Joseph.  And I don’t have a pregnant fiancée in tow.  Or a donkey,” said Tony thoughtfully.

“Use my bathroom,” said Gibbs.  “Wash up.  Change your clothes.  Then you can go look for somewhere to stay.”

“You sure, Boss?  Of course you’re sure.  You never say anything you don’t mean.  What’s that like?”

“What’s what like?” asked Gibbs finding himself, not for the first time, unable to follow Tony’s thought processes.

“Always saying what you mean,” said Tony.  “I mean, I don’t _lie_.  Or not often.  But I sometimes try to be tactful.  But you don’t.  You say what you mean and don’t care.”

“What was that about trying to be tactful?” asked Gibbs with a grin at Tony’s entanglements.

“What?” asked Tony.

“Go and wash up,” said Gibbs, abandoning trying to embarrass Tony.  “Have a bath.  Not a shower.  The soak might do you good.  Leave your clothes outside and I’ll put them in the washer for you.”

Tony looked puzzled at this act of kindness but seemed too weary to work out what was happening.

Gibbs watched Tony inch his way to the bathroom and then returned to the kitchen finally to unpack his food shopping.  Half an hour later, just as Gibbs was beginning to think that Tony might have fallen asleep in the tub, his guest emerged pink and shiny and smelling of sandalwood and aloe vera.  He was wearing comfortable sweats but was still moving stiffly.

“Did Ducky give you any painkillers?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony, “Of course he did.”

“And have you taken any?”

Tony shifted uncomfortably.  “I’ll take some later,” he said.

“Why not now?” asked Gibbs.

Tony looked even more embarrassed.  “I sometimes have a bad reaction to painkillers,” he admitted.  “I go a bit loopy.  It’s better if I wait until I’m on my own.”

“Have you had anything to eat?” asked Gibbs.  “You shouldn’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.”

“I’ll have something to eat,” said Tony.  “Promise,” he stifled a yawn.

Gibbs would never win Boss of the Year, and indeed would never enter such a competition, but in a moment of insight he saw that Tony would end up in some dump of a hotel, take his medication and fall asleep before he had anything to eat.

“You’ll end up burning a hole in your stomach,” he announced.

“What?” yelped Tony as he looked down at his tummy in alarm.  “I’m on fire?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “But if you take painkillers on an empty stomach you’ll give yourself an ulcer.”

“I will?” said Tony.

“Yep.”

“Then I’ll eat,” said Tony.

Suddenly the thought of eating with someone on Christmas Eve seemed appealing to Gibbs, especially as he could cloak it with the idea that he was just looking out for a co-worker … protecting his investment.

“You’d better eat here,” said Gibbs gruffly.

For a moment it looked as if Tony was going to ask if Gibbs was sure about this but it seemed that he remembered that his previous attempt at discussion with his Boss hadn’t gone well and he settled for nodding gratefully.

“I’ve got turkey steaks,” said Gibbs.

Tony looked a little less grateful but didn’t say anything.

“Go sit down before you fall down,” ordered Gibbs.

An unusually compliant Tony went back to the couch.  He lowered himself down carefully, leaned back and closed his eyes.  Three seconds later his eyes flew open,

“I’ve got food!” he exclaimed.

“What?” asked Gibbs who was looking at the turkey steaks and wondering if it was his imagination that they were looking back at him sullenly and promising not to be appetising.

“The draw,” said Tony.  “You know.  The office raffle.”

Gibbs looked blank.

“Two dollars a ticket,” continued Tony.  “Mindy Mindson was selling the tickets.  You know Mindy, don’t you?  The blonde with the enormous … eyes?  She has a great … personality.  Knows a lot about … well, a lot of useful things.”

Gibbs continued to look blank.

“Well, I guess you haven’t been around much,” said Tony excusingly, “But I can’t believe you don’t know Mindy.”

“I can’t believe Mr and Mrs Mindson called their daughter _Mindy_ ,” said Gibbs disapprovingly.

“A crime against alliteration,” said Tony.  “Or is it a crime _for_ alliteration?  Or assonance?  I hadn’t thought about it.  I guess it would be like me having a son called Dinny or a daughter called Dinty.  Although those names are totally made up so I reckon I won’t do that.  But it’s a good point, Gibbs.  I’ll remember that.  But I think it shows that poor Mindy needs our sympathy.”

“Just so long as that’s all she gets,” said Gibbs warningly.

“Of course,” said Tony virtuously.  “And I don’t really dig blondes.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“And in this case feeling sorry for Mindy turned out well.”

“I didn’t realise you were feeling sorry for Mindy before,” objected Gibbs.

“Oh, yes,” insisted Tony, “I felt sorry for her having to sell all the tickets.  So I helped out.”

“You sold tickets?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  I bought some. _”_

“And?” asked Gibbs.

“And?” said Tony who seemed to have lost the thread of the conversation.

“And what happened?  With your tickets?”

“Oh, I won,” said Tony happily.

“What did you win?” asked Gibbs.

“The Christmas hamper.”

The NCIS Christmas hamper was a thing of legend: it contained everything one could possibly want for Christmas.  Gibbs never bought a ticket because the luxurious hamper contents were not what he needed for his type of Christmas but he was intrigued to find out if the stories were true.

“And you brought it with you?” asked Gibbs.

“It was either that or leave it in the squad room,” said Tony.

Gibbs nodded at the wisdom of Tony’s reasoning.  It seemed unlikely that the hamper would have survived a weekend unattended.

“Where is it?” asked Gibbs.

Tony sprang up in as sprightly a manner as he could manage and ducked behind the couch to retrieve a large wicker basket.

“It’s got ham, cooked meats, cheeses, truffles, chocolate, crostini, peanuts, almonds, Christmas cake, plum pudding, stuffed olives, salami, candies, mustard, stuffed peppers, macarons, cheesecake, red velvet cake, brownies, muffins, pretzels, wine, beer, popcorn, coffee, ham …”

“You said that,” said Gibbs, proving that he had been paying attention to Tony’s breathless recital.

“I know,” said Tony, “It’s got _two_ types of ham.  Westphalian and Parma.  But, if you’d rather have turkey steaks …”

Gibbs was magnanimous.  “I could go for some of the ham.  And perhaps some salami.  Are there any crackers?”

Tony rummaged.  “Yes, rice, sea salt, almond, wheat, onion or flatbread.  Or there’s some rye bread.  Or pumpernickel?”

The turkey steaks were returned to the fridge and Tony and Gibbs proceeded to make considerable inroads into the hamper bounty.  Gibbs lit the fire and the two sat companionably watching the flames and eating the food.  Tony gave a running commentary on what he was eating and described previous Christmas Eves when he had been on duty as a cop.  Gibbs found himself drawn in and imagined that somehow Tony’s words were filling and warming the empty spaces in the house.  Gradually, however, the gaps between the words got longer and longer and Gibbs realised that his guest was falling asleep.  Part of Gibbs knew that Tony needed to leave if he stood any chance of finding a hotel room for the night but another part found that he liked having someone in the house for Christmas, and besides, Tony still hadn’t taken the painkillers.

Gibbs got up and searched in Tony’s backpack until he found the medicine.  He looked at the instructions and shook the required dose out.

“DiNozzo,” he said gently, “Take these now.”

“W-w-hat?” said Tony blearily.

“Take these,” ordered Gibbs.

Tony held out his hand obediently, put the pills in his mouth and then washed them down with the glass of water Gibbs held out to him.

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go,” said Gibbs.

Tony nodded and curled into the couch.  Gibbs half expected him to put his thumb in his mouth but he just heaved a contented sigh and let his eyes close.  Gibbs resisted the impulse to pat him on the head.  He watched his guest for a few minutes and then decided to retreat to the basement for a while; somehow he didn’t think it would be a disturbing place that night.

NCISNCIS

Some hours later, Gibbs climbed back up the stairs feeling rested and soothed from a good session of planing wood.  As expected, the memories had returned but he had allowed their happiness in and allowed them to soothe and heal him instead of making him angry and sad.  He sniffed as he entered the kitchen as he tried to identify the sweet smell.  He heard the TV playing softly and when he went into the living room he found Tony watching something in black and white as he nursed a huge bowl on his lap.

“DiNozzo?” he asked.

“Oh.  Hey, Boss,” said Tony.  “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Is it?” said Gibbs.  He wasn’t so sure.  A life of apprehending criminals combined with a naturally dour outlook hadn’t made him a hopeful sort of person.

“The movie,” said Tony, gesturing towards the screen.

“Oh,” said Gibbs, “I guess that makes more sense.”

“Although,” said Tony, as he followed Gibbs’ train of thought, “I think it is.”

“Is what?”

“A wonderful life.  I mean, not always.  Bad things happen.  But good things happen as well.  Guess I’m a glass half full sort of guy.”

“I guess,” said Gibbs.  He sat down next to Tony and helped himself to a handful of popcorn.  “This is good,” he said.

“Caramel popcorn,” said Tony.  “Sort of a DiNozzo Christmas tradition.  Hope you don’t mind?  I made it.  But I didn’t burn any pans.  I washed up.”

Gibbs looked around his living room, “Looks like you’ve been cleaning up in here too,” he commented.

“Oh, yeah,” said Tony.  “Ducky’s pills take the pain away like a charm.”

“Good,” said Gibbs cautiously.

“But they made me a bit hyper.  My fingers have been finging.”

“Finging?” said Gibbs, puzzled by this new word.

“Yeah, you know.  Finging.”  Tony waggled his fingers and gazed at them in fascination as if he had never seen them before.

“OK.  Finging,” said Gibbs.  “And that made you clear up in here?”

“Have to be doing something,” said Tony.  “I alphabetised your books by title.  Is that OK?  I thought of going for author.  Or genre … but I wasn’t sure I’d know what the genre would be.  And actually, Boss, most of them are adventure or woodworking.  Unless you subdivide the adventure in different categories?”

“Title is fine,” said Gibbs hastily before Tony could jump up and rearrange the books again.

“I washed the windows,” added Tony.  “But it’s tough to tell if I made a good job.  Don’t usually wash windows at night.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs.

“You’ve run out of polish,” said Tony discontentedly, “I’d have given a good shine to your furniture.”

“’Nother time,” said Gibbs peaceably.  “Hey, got any more of this popcorn?  It’s good.”

“Sure,” said Tony, “There’s some more in the kitchen.  Oh, and I reorganised your kitchen cabinets, Gibbs.  Lot of stuff was out of date.  I put it out for the garbage.  Did you know you’ve got a scary sack?  Those chipmunks scared the sh-, put the wind up me.  I put your canned goods near the fridge.  You should aim to have a triangle for a working area when you’re cooking.  More efficient.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” lied Gibbs.  “So, is the movie a DiNozzo tradition as well?”

“I guess,” said Tony.  “Movies remind me of my mom.  She loved her films.”

“Did she like this one?”

“Can’t remember,” said Tony, “I was only eight when she died so I can’t remember all her favourites.  I guess I like this one because it’s about a family.”

“Did your dad watch movies with you?” asked Gibbs.

“Not so much,” said Tony in a tone which didn’t invite further enquiry.

Gibbs looked at Tony thoughtfully.  It was unusual for Tony to clam up about anything.  Tony was noisy, brash and cocky – almost the antithesis of Stan Burley, his predecessor on Gibbs’ team.  That noisiness, brashness and cockiness would normally have been enough to make Tony the last person Gibbs would choose for his team.  Gibbs knew, however, that there was more to Tony than met the eye: he was good at his job, he cared about it and was always happy when he finally made a connection in a case.  Tony put on a good show for people but, underneath, Gibbs was convinced that he was dedicated and passionate about the work and, for that, Gibbs was ready to put up with the fireworks.

“You still hyper?” he asked Tony.

“Coming down,” said Tony, “I’ll probably crash soon.”

Gibbs nodded.  “You said there was more popcorn?”

Tony nodded a little shiftily.

Gibbs went into the kitchen.  “There are six buckets of the stuff!” he exclaimed.

“Ducky’s pills,” said Tony in explanation.

“Six buckets!” said Gibbs.

“I thought your neighbours might like some,” said Tony.

Gibbs blinked at the thought of how his neighbours would react if he turned up at their doors with festive treats.

“Why’d you come here, DiNozzo?”

Tony turned and gazed at him, something unreadable in his eyes.  “Why’d you let me stay, Gibbs?”

Gibbs stared back at him and glimpsed the truth.  Tony, perhaps without knowing it, had needed a refuge and someone to care.  Gibbs, also without knowing it, had needed to offer shelter and care.  Two men with needs which meshed.  Two men who had each given and received more than they had ever expected.

“Good answer,” said Gibbs.

Tony nodded.

“You might as well stay,” continued Gibbs.

Tony smiled a soft smile which reached his eyes.

“I’m gonna need some help delivering all this damned popcorn,” said Gibbs by way of explanation.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!


End file.
